butterfly
by Queen of Stuff
Summary: fragments of a life after rape.
1. Chapter 1

Her eyes were fuzzy.

Upon waking, this was the first thing she was aware of. Then, the smell. It was dark and smoky and salty and disgusting. Suddenly, all of her senses were overly alert, but all she could see was the pillowcase, and all she could feel was something grinding inside of her, painful and dark and—

_No. This isn't happening. _

But the other part of her, the rational part, lay it out for her completely. _Olivia? Sweetheart? You're being raped. _

She screamed into the pillow, but her attacker slapped her across the ass, hard, and laughed. It was a low laugh, husky, and she got the feeling that whoever it was, he was large in stature. That could explain why it hurt so much in comparison to the other times she—ow. Ow. _Ow._ _Jesus, that…that doesn't feel good. _

She cried out, and this time, the assailant pulled out. There was a sick splattering against her thighs, and she was released. Frozen, she lay on the bed, still face down, her face a mask of agony. He didn't say anything, just exited. She heard the door clank against its frame, and, after a moment's hesitation, she warily tried to stand up. Semen ran down her legs, and she bent over and vomited on the floor. _Oh my God. _She didn't know where she was. She couldn't remember anything at all, just being in a club with Stabler…Elliot? Where was Elliot? _He went home, remember? _What happened from there? Did anyone drug her? Did anything happen at all?

Olivia staggered out of the apartment, her head reeling, and stood in the cramped elevator. No one else was there, but the idea that she was being watched, by anyone, was overwhelming. Tears and snot were running down her face, and she felt the fool as she swayed and collapsed in the elevator. Her head hit the wall, and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ring. _

Elliot grumbled in his sleep and rolled over.

_Ring. _

"Shut up."

_Ring. _

"Damn it, shut _up_!"

He really couldn't stand the whole 'newly single man' thing. The divorce had been a bitch, and not having Kathy play secretary was starting to get to him.

"Hello?" he asked lowly. _What does Liv want now?_

They had spent the night out, getting drinks, and she'd been laughing deliriously the whole time over stupid little jokes. It was very uncharacteristic of her, and if he was correct, something raspberry-scented was on her. He just didn't know what.

"It's Munch," said the said gentleman. "How are you, Stabler?"

"It's three am, you bastard," said Elliot. "What do you want? This better be good."

"We have a case," said Munch.

"Don't we always have a case?"

"Shut up. It's important, Stabler."

"Just get Liv to do it."

"Liv can't."

"Why not?"

There was a moment of hesitation.

"She's the victim."

Elliot stared at the wall. There was a crack in this apartment, a huge crack that spread all over and sprawled out into different directions, roots to another problem that he still couldn't quite solve despite years of effort.

"What?"

* * *

She was shaking.

Usually, it was she who interrogated the victim. This time, however, she was the one with mascara tears trailing down her face while paramedics strapped her to a stretcher. _Oh, the irony. _Her head was still hurting, and she remembered being found, a skinny little girl with kinky hair and caramel eyes.

_She jerked away. "_Don't—no—"

_The girl stared at her fearfully. "_Mommy? There's a lady in the elevator._" _

_A woman entered. A hand went up to her mouth. _"Oh my God."

It was like all of the horror stories she encountered each day had ran up into each other and become one big nightmare in her own life. The pillowcase kept emerging in her head, and she smelled his darkness all over her. _Make it stop oh God please make it stop—_

"Liv!"

She turned her head, which was rather difficult when strapped to a stretcher, and saw Elliot, running towards her. "Elliot!"

He jumped into the ambulance. "Oh, my God, Benson, are you okay?"

_Wouldn't you of all people know whether or not I was? _"N-n-no," she stuttered, her dark eyes flittering across his face. _What if he hurts me? _ The seeds of paranoia had been planted once more. "Elliot…he…he…"

The woman who had seen every possible way of sexual abuse, every form of violence, broke down in tears, barely able to keep herself together as the night's brutalities came back to her. _He hurt me, Elliot. He raped me. He _raped _me. _


	3. Chapter 3

**thanks for the reviews you guys**

It was devastating, sure, but life goes on.

Olivia stared at the ceiling, still bruised, still battered, but other than that physically okay. Mentally, on the other hand, she was shattered, her brain replaying the scene over and over again, never stopping. She didn't feel anything but cold, and she was wrapped in a thick layer of blankets, nearly comatose in lack of action.

"Liv?" came the perpetual question, and she didn't even look up. "Hey. Are you doing okay?"

Her tongue was swollen, useless in her mouth. "No."

Elliot sighed. He sat on the edge of her bed, held her hand, and the intimacy of the gesture nearly brought her to tears. "Did you…did you see his face?"

She shook her head. "I…I was facedown the entire time. He must've drugged me or something after you left the…the bar."

"Do you remember seeing anyone suspicious after I left?" Clearly, Elliot was struggling with this. "Did anyone try to talk to you?"

Olivia bit her lip, closed her eyes, tried desperately to think of something, anything. "I…it's too hard, Elliot."

"I understand that," said Stabler. He closed his eyes and tried to picture her before. She wasn't like this, wasn't such a mess. "Listen, Olivia…they're going to do the rape kit any minute now. Are you ready?"

"Will you stay with me?" she whispered.

"Ugh...sure. Anything for you."

She tried to smile, but it hurt her teeth. "Elliot…thank you so much. I…I'm just a bit of a mess right now."

"No, no, it's okay," said Elliot, squeezing her hand a bit tighter. "Olivia, someone…he…I don't even know what I'm saying, honestly."

"That's okay," said Olivia. "I don't know what _I'm_ trying to say."

"You have an excuse, though," said Elliot. He flushed. "I mean…God, that's awful of me to say, but…well…Liv…"

She closed her eyes, silencing him. She looked almost Madonna-esque, her dark eyelashes and hair framing her face perfectly. _Victim. _The term did not suit her, but here she was, one of the masses, something she couldn't fix on her own.

Elliot stared at her. "I…I'm just going to go out for a moment."

He left, and she only then allowed herself to cry.

* * *

"Are you sexually active?"

"Not on a regular basis until…"

"I understand completely."

"Thanks."

"Do you identify as heterosexual?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any current sexual partners?"

"No. I thought I made that apparent."

"Can you please, in full detail, describe the rape?"

"I…I woke up and…well…I was shoved against the bed and he was inside of me."

"Inside how?"

"Vaginal."

"Okay. Then what?"

"I screamed, and he slapped me and laughed."

"Describe the laugh."

"Low, husky."

"Mhm. Any chance that you'd be able to identify the voice if you heard it again?"

"Yes."

"Good. At least we have that much to work with…now, this is going to hurt."

Olivia held Elliot's hand and gasped. She had never realized that it would hurt this much. "Ow."

"Indeed. Now, that just about finishes the exam. You can clean up now, whatever you want. You'll have to stay in the hospital for the night though, and you might need stitches."

"Stitches? What did I tear?"

The examiner looked a bit uncomfortable. "I think that's a bit obvious."

"Oh."

* * *

Munch and Fin came over in the morning. "Hey, Benson," said Fin. He awkwardly held out a bouquet. "Um, figured you'd want these."

"Thank you," said Olivia, taking the roses and staring at them. She still wanted to cry. "That's very thoughtful of you."

"Well, all things considered, you deserve it," said Munch, sitting down. "Hey, we have news."

"Yes?"

"I bought a property. I'm finally going to have that bar."

"Congratulations," said Olivia, a tiny smile creeping up on her face. "What will you be serving, any specialties?"

"_All_ of the specialties."

"Good to know," said Olivia. She felt something tremor through her, and she grimaced. "Thanks for coming."

"How are you feeling?" asked Munch, still taking the lead. Fin was nearly silent, just looking at the scuffs on his boots. "You look pretty good, physically at least."

"Just queasy," she said. "I took the morning after pill and stuff, but I still feel like crap."

"Sorry," said Fin. "Hey, I'm going downstairs to the vending machine. Do you want a Coke or something?"

"Sure," she said, her eyes tracing his frame. "That'd be nice."

As he left, Munch turned to her. "Don't mind him. He's just really shaken up."

"Is he, now," said Olivia, her stomach growling. "Can you send him a text asking for some M&Ms?"

"Sure," said Munch, taking out his iPhone and sending a quick text. "Olivia?"

"Yes, John?"

"We…we're worried about you," said Munch. He was obviously in a skirmish with himself to form any coherent words. "At the precinct. Um. I shouldn't tell you this, but we're planning a party when you get back. Is that okay?"

She felt at a loss for words. "I…I don't really know. That's kind of you, but…"

"Too much?"

"In a sense, yes."

"I'll relay—"

"No, it's fine," she stated. "If anything, I'm worried about the stitches. They really pull."

"Stitches?"

Olivia sighed and crumpled into the useless little heap she was getting steadily used to being. "Never mind. I just…"

Fin parted the curtain leading to her bed and dropped the M&Ms and a Coke on her bed. "Knock yourself out."

"I'll try," she admitted, tearing open the bag and eating one blue piece. "God, I haven't had these in forever."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," said Munch, watching her devour the packet. "Slow down, Benson. It's unladylike."

"I don't care," said Olivia. She finished off the last of it and sighed. "I know. I was a pig. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said Fin. "Everyone binges."

"Especially lonely detectives," added Olivia. She stared off into space for a moment before glancing in their direction. "Well, I'm going to get dressed."

"Mhm," said Munch, not leaving. Fin tugged his arm, and he understood. "Oh! Sorry, Benson."

She closed her eyes as they left and slipped into the jeans and t-shirt Elliot had left for her. Her coat was hung up on the bed, and she put that on as well, sighing as she tied her shoelaces and aching a little as she bent over. There was a bruise on her ribcage, right in between her breasts, and it was annoying the hell out of her. _So what. You can do anything._ Sure. Anything.

_No, really. Olivia, look at you. Raped less than twenty four hours ago and already getting ready to investigate more cases. That takes guts. _

What doesn't?

_Hiding. _

True.

* * *

Two days passed. Olivia sat at the precinct, typing away furiously. Everyone was watching her. She knew this to be true, even though their statures denied it, and it was starting to seriously annoy her. _I'm fine,_ she wanted to say, _perfectly fine, just recovering, that's all. _Apparently, however, everyone was used to the kind of victims she took care of, not this new, tough-guy persona that had been steadily growing ever since the assault.

For a moment, it was blissfully quiet in the precinct. She sighed, allowed herself to feel the almost dreamlike quality of not having to deal with the almost juvenile chatters of whichever DA they were on (which one _were_ they on? Since she had become a detective, they'd flown past her eyes); of course, this always ended too quickly, and always with Elliot.

Her partner stood up, almost breathless. There were hollows in his cheeks, a new kind of loneliness that she hadn't seen there before. "Rape, 23rd and 7th, Chelsea," he said, grabbing his coat. "Victim's a teenage girl."

Olivia stood up and pulled on her coat. "Finally, an actual case," she said, feeling the contours of her body inside of the thick fabric. "Is it just me, or has Manhattan been relatively calm as far as sex crimes go?"

No one answered her. Elliot and Fin glanced over their respective shoulders momentarily, but other than that, she got no reaction. She frowned. This was starting to get really irritating.

The drive was silent. Olivia didn't drive. She felt like a little kid in the back seat, while Fin and Elliot talked loudly into their cellphones. There was a light ache in her stomach, and she winced and stared out of the window. "Liv?" asked Elliot, turning around from the passenger's seat. "You look kind of green. Is something wrong?"

"No," she lied, tasting bile in the back of her throat. "I just feel a little under the weather, that's all."

The men exchanged a glance. "What? I just think I'm catching something. Is that really a cause for concern?"

She felt pissed, too pissed off to be true to anyone. Elliot bit his lip. "We just worry about you, Liv."

"Whatever," said Liv, unbuckling her seatbelt. "We're here,"

They parked and ran out. There was police tape everywhere, and the victim, a small teenager with a severe dark haircut, was crying, wearing an oversized jacket and sitting on the curb as medics flew around her.

"Hey," said Olivia, stooping down to her level. "I'm Detective Olivia Benson, Special Victims Unit."

"Gemma," said the girl, looking dead. "I…he…" She burst into tears.

"It's going to be okay," said Olivia, rubbing her shoulders. She didn't feel too sure, herself. "I…it's going to be okay."


End file.
